Cold of the Morning
A/N: I have a tendency of writing weird, dark fics when I'm in a certain mood. Please forgive me! I like that kind of fic! I know everyone doesn't like this kinds of fics, but please read this one because it is one of the best things I've ever written. I actually was surprised at how amazing this turned out. But it is dark. And angsty. And I will be quiet now! Enough of me, here's the fic!
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Cold. Nothing but cold. That's all Severus Snape could feel as he curled up in his bed in the seventh year boy's dorms of the Slytherin House. Blasted cold! It followed Slytherins everywhere, even if they were in warm rooms. Yes, there would always be cold for the Slytherins.
Severus stood up, pulling a black robe around his skinny body. It didn't block out the cold. He walked over to the large glass window that covered most of one of the walls in his dorm, and looked outside. The Slytherin common room was a dungeon, but the actually dorms were quite high up inside a tower. Luckily, the Slytherins got the best view of the grounds of Hogwarts.
It was a beautiful winter day. White snow paraded down from the misty sky in soft drifts, dancing on the tops of trees and piling on top of the frozen lake. Severus smiled at the glorious scene of the Saturday, and felt a longing to grab his art kit and head down to the lake.
He went into the bathroom, quickly taking a warm shower that didn't seem to help his frozen body in the least bit. After the shower, Severus grabbed his warmest cloak, along with gloves, and his art kit and headed out of the Slytherin common room, quietly, so as he wouldn't wake any of the other Slytherins.
Severus crept through the Great Hall, and pulled two huge wooden doors open carefully, making sure no one would hear him, especially the caretaker, Simon Amoline. Outside, the cold of the winter morning didn't affect him to the slightest bit. He was used to cold.
Severus spotted a big rock next to the lake, and far away from Hagrid's hut, and decided it was a perfect place to draw. He slithered over to it, his black cloak and robes billowing behind him gracefully. Severus climbed on top of the rock, and shivered. It was such an eerie morning.
Soon after he began drawing the Forbidden Forest, the sun began to rise over the top of the lake. Severus stopped quickly, and pulled out some paints, drawing the beautiful sunrise. Gold and pink mixed with the ever falling snow, and the silver of the lake was enough to temporarily freeze anyone looking at it. Severus finished his painting a half an hour later and then scanned his work with pride.
What he had drawn captured the true beauty of the December morning. The lake was spread out all over the canvas, mystical and shining. There was a small blossom of sun beyond the lake, and every sort of colors was bouncing from it. The sky was a misted white, and snow fell from it like rain in the middle of a monsoon. In all, the painting was beautiful, and it contemplated Severus's oddly happy mood.
Suddenly, a big brown owl with small, glinting black eyes swooped down out of the mass of clouds, obviously irritated. It landed on Severus's rock, dropped a letter and squawked.
"Thank you, Aristotle. Good owl," Severus replied to his owl, and petted it's head with affection.
As Aristotle flew away into the owlery, Severus picked up the white parchment. He tore it open, still not able to draw his eyes away from his own painting. Once the letter was over, Severus's eyes quickly darted over the paper once, then twice. His eyes grew big, and he howled. His scream pierced the quiet of the morning, and he collapsed on the rock, sending his painting and his art kit flying into the lake. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.
Dear Severus,
I'm sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this, but your parents are dead, along with your baby sister. Voldemort came to your house two nights ago, and when your parents resisted Voldemort's command of joining his side, he killed them and Merina. I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Aunt Arinana
Years went by, and the cold never had bothered Severus. He had always known cold. But on the December morning that he found out his parents and sister had been murdered, the cold had pierced straight through his heart. He had always known that that was not normal cold. That was a special kind of cold. The cold of the morning.
~Fini~